{♥}
- I am writing this post at 3am, in a randomly crappy mood, and self-medicating with Doritos and Diet Pepsi. I should be asleep, but I've had insomnia the past few nights so I figure, why bother?
- Although all of my random acts of kindness for my friends – letters, texts, e-mails, and care packages – are done solely because I want to make them smile, there is sometimes a teeny tiny part of my heart that wishes I would get a random package/letter/e-mail to brighten my day. To be clear, I absolutely do not do these things with any expectation of the favor being returned; this feeling crops up randomly, not before, during, or immediately after the actual thing I'm doing.
- Sometimes I just want to call my friends up and arrange a cry-your-face-off sleepover. Everyone has burdens and needs to have a good cry every once in a while, but all too often it happens when you’re all by yourself and you wish you had someone to hug you. I want to have one night where everyone takes turns letting it all out and has their support system right there.
- I feel like I am a completely uninteresting member of society. I have no interest in doing culturally-enriching things, like traveling or visiting museums or reading classic books. My taste in music and television is mostly pop-culture-ish and usually what I listen to and watch has no depth. The list of movies “everyone” has seen that I haven’t is ridiculously long, which makes me feel left out more often than you'd think. All of that makes me feel really dumb sometimes, because too often I sit silently while other people talk about all of these things and I wonder what I was doing when everyone was becoming so informed.
- Most of the time, I fully believe that I’m never going to figure out how to live with my IBS. I’m just going to keep moving through life how I am now – dealing with it when I have to, but otherwise struggling on a day-to-day basis. I’ve made very little actual progress, aside from my attitude, in the past two years. My methods only work now because I only leave the house every few days; holding a full-time job, or even a daily part-time one, would be nearly impossible.
- I think the main reason I don’t talk about my problems in depth with anyone is that I know nobody will have any answers for me. I’ve run through the dialogue enough in my head and in my diary to get that satisfaction of letting everything out, and although it would be nice to have someone agree that it sucks and validate my self-pity, I don’t think it would make me feel that much better.
